Of Mountains and Molehills
by C.S. Lupus
Summary: Learn the origin of the Hermit of the Southern March.


**Greetin's Cretins! It's Lupus! I've discovered that writing a one-shot is, in some ways, more difficult than a novella. Economy is the key, but if you make it too information-dense, the reader will get fatigue from all the heavy-lifting! I've done my very best to strike the balance between brevity and description though tasteful use of exposition! Go one and hate me! ****But if you wish to hate me to appropriate music:**_"Mountains and Molehills" by Flux Pavilion._

* * *

"Where's Letty?" Andrew asked sweetly.

"You sister Letitia is dead. We've told you this." And so Digory Kirke had, 5 times that day.

Tears spilled from Andrews eyes as he absorbed the shock for what felt like the first time once again. This is the reality of dementia.

Letitia was his twin sister. There were four children total. He, Letitia, and Mabel all had the same father, but their eldest sister was a bastard, sired by a mysterious stranger. Her name was Asteria.

When her mother met the man who was the be the father of her next three children, she knew she didn't have very many options. He was a simple man, but he was kind, and he provided for his family to the best of his ability. He even gave his surname, Ketterly, to Asteria, adopting her. It was a show of acceptance she was not used to and never forgot.

When asked about Asteria's father, her mother, Scarlette (You may have heard of someone with the same name having adventures in Narnia.), simply said he was the most radiant man in all of the land. Asteria grew up strange, quiet, and beautiful.

The marital status of Asteria's mother upon her birth limited her in life. The inhabitants of Dorsetshire were basic and prone to jealousy. Growing up was hard and people her age weren't accepting.

So when a handsome local lad began to pay her extra kindness, she was putty in his hands. When she was heavy with her own child, the lad pretended not to know her. She was laughed out of town for her claims. After all, he was the son of a powerful man in the village.

Asteria named her son Adam. Soon after his birth, a woman who went by the name of Ms. Lafey, who claimed to have fairy blood, began to visit them. At first, Scarlette welcomed these visits as Ms. Lafey had arcane knowledge that helped her to understand her daughter and grandson. Andrew had also taken a liking to this woman and would run to the door when he heard her distinctive three raps from the pommel of her pretty sword-cane.

But over time, Ms. Lafey's erratic behavior and broken promises wore on the family. Finally, after she showed up drunk late one evening and became violent when asked to leave, Scarlette was at her limit. She shut her door for good.

When Andrew and Letitia were 16, they both begged to go to London and were finally granted permission. Andrew wished to track down "Lady Lafey" as he called her and bump elbows with other occultists, haunting opium dens and darkened parlors. Letitia merely wished to marry money. Both found their heart's desire.

Soon, Letitia was the young widow of an old rich man, scorned as an opportunist, but set up to life comfortably for all of her days. She was very practical and paid little mind to the opinions of her in-laws.

Her brother moved in with her and continued his study into the occult. He faithfully visited Ms. Lafey in prison, neglecting his own mother. When Lady Lafey was near death, she gave him an ornate box and ordered him to destroy it without opening it. He knew he was lying when he promised it would be done.

He toiled for years to unlock the mystery of the box, living off of Letitia's windfall that she shared with her twin either out of duty or guilt. When their baby sister, Mabel, developed cancer, Letitia welcomed her into her home as well so she could be close to the best doctors.

Asteria looked after their ailing mother and, unable to meet ends, asked Letitia to also take Adam as a boarder so he may work and send money home. She was penning her response when Andrew intervened.

He'd used his eldest sister's strange parentage to his advantage in the circles he ran with and had long ago learned that they were far more interested in his sister than he, so when it looked as if someone of star-blood would be under the same roof once more, his avarice and ambitions got the better of him.

Had he come to the matter with a different mind, perhaps he would've welcomed the chance to be a guiding hand to a protégé. He could've been everything for Adam that Ms. Lafey was not for him. The young lad's enthusiasm and natural light might've strengthened Andrew's character. Perhaps they would have donned rings side by side and explored Charn together, where they would've known better than to strike the bell that woke Jadis. Perhaps when curiosity led to their inevitable return, they would've found a newborn Narnia and King Adam would've ruled with his Magician Advisor on his high council.

Perhaps, but no one is ever told what would have happened.

* * *

"Oh. Diggory! Is that my tea? Oh wonderful. Now, where's Letty? Let's wait until she joins us." Andrew said sweetly.

"Uncle Andrew," Digory said with more patience than he felt, staring down the cracks in the pavement of the garden patio. "You sister is dead." Digory watched the cookie drop from his Uncle's hands as he fell into tears once more.

Digory lived in their manor out in the country. It was the roaring 20's and while other landed gentry were throwing parties and playing in their society, everything was kept low-key in his manor. Sometimes he longed for the care-free lot of his peers, but he knew all too well that all that glitters is not gold.

They knew he took care of his Uncle. They came to him because, though they didn't want for problems, they'd never learned how to be sad and were helpless to it when life inevitably happened. They involved him in their most private matters because they were bound by a covenant entailed with the title of Lord or Baron to be ever vigilant and never trust equals.

The Kirke's were unknowns: new money that'd struck it rich in India. They were also relations of a known gold-digger. Her in-laws had put out word to keep the Kirke's at arms-length. For this reason, Digory was paradoxically trusted by a few of them. He was the social Hermit, utterly blameless in his circumstance.

When Andrew had more of his mind intact, he'd entertain guests with his stories of life as an urban sorcerer in the Victorian heyday of spiritualists and mediums. He was before Alan Parsons; before Anton LaVey; before even Aleister Crowley. He read Emanuel Swedenborg and even traveled to meet Cora L. V. Scott in her parlor after years of correspondence. And he met the most interesting and unstable people you could imagine along the way.

His most interesting story, the birth of Narnia, stayed hidden. Sometimes, when he was sitting in the garden, he'd remember. His face would light up and he'd look like he was about to say something, and then he'd go back into his confusion.

* * *

"Excuse me, sir." said the maid. "Your cousin has arrived." Digory stood and went inside to welcome Adam. He was counting on his help. He was at his wits end with the day in and day out of putting up with other people's bullshit drama while his Uncle deteriorated. He knew the only way it would end is in his Uncle's death.

More than once, he considered going for the rings they'd buried at the base of the apple tree and finding something in some world to cure his Uncle, but he felt in his soul that this is the sort of thing that is only granted once. So he waited for the dark day that would mark his freedom. In the mean time, Adam was here.

"How is your mother, Adam?" asked Diggory.

"She's still traveling. Here's a picture of her in Paris that she sent." he said as he handed him a picture in a frame with a ribbon and bow. In it was a woman who looked 25, but was in fact much older. She was in a flapper dress and smiling coquettishly. "She means it as a gift for Andrew."

"I don't know why he needs new pictures of her, ever. Aunt Asteria is never going to age, is she."

"It's possible it's happening, just incredibly slowly." Adam replied. "But look, new hairstyle."

"So I see." Digory raised his eyebrows and nodded as he looked again at the picture. She was sporting a stylish bob with a feathered headband. "Well, he's not very lucid today, but I can take you back to see him. I've had to tell him Aunt Letty is dead 6 times since breakfast."

They walked back to the rear garden table where Andrew most liked to sit to find his blanket in his chair and his slippers gone, along with him.

"UNCLE ANDREW!"

* * *

Andrew often saw things that weren't there. Today he was seeing The Lion and feeling a regret he could not elucidate even to his own mind. The Lion bid him to follow, which He had never done before. Andrew stepped into his slippers and he was off.

He continued, unknowing of time, until the English hills and plains gave way to forests unlike English forests. Where it was cloudy and misty before, it was now bright and like the month of May.

He heard bubbling female laughter and followed the sound to find a tribe of Maenads maying (as is their namesake) and braiding one another's hair. They all turned and saw him simultaneously like a pride of lions. They quickly assessed him and the most decorated amongst them stepped forward and helped the old man sit down.

They tended to his blistered and bleeding feet. They gave him fresh water and some wild-picked fruit and goat-milk with honey, but they held back the mead, seeing that his mind was very damaged. Then they bid him rest on a blanket draped over a pile of soft greenery they prepared. "I know what to do, sisters." said one to the others after Andrew was asleep. "This nameless one needs great care. I know a small knot of dwarf brothers that reside together. They'd be number enough and are of great competence." They all agreed quickly and then, with the business done, got back to their enjoyment, albeit at a much lower volume. This is the Maena way: they do their part and then leave you to your fate.

* * *

Andrew sat in the hand-hewn rocking-chair provided for him by the dwarves. The Narnian air had done him some good physically; his mind was still worsening despite this. Pants were hard for him, so he wore long robes like a Calormene but made of soft Narnian textiles. He had a staff for walking, which he did daily with a dwarf accompanying him. It was early summer and there was much celebrating.

He was restless that morning. Without the mind, Mankind is left to animal instinct, and every animal in the forest felt the change. He needed to hide. Flee. He stood, leaving his staff, and wandered again into the countryside as white flakes of snow fell and a chill came to the air.

This first snow didn't stick and melted on contact. Had the 100-year winter not started in summer, the snow would have accumulated sooner and the dwarves might've been able to follow find his tracks, but his footprints blended with those of others on the road. The one who was to stay back and take care of Andrew lamented his mistake of not bringing him to the well with him.

Invigorated by the Narnian air, he was able to walk for a day and a night with little rest. Soon he was collapsing at the edge of Cauldron Pool. There above him on the rocks of the cliff clung three Hagons. They spread their wings and glided downward, circling, like pterodactyls. The cast their shadows as they stood over him, wings crossed around their shoulders like cloaks.

Andrew looked up and desperately reached out:

"Thirst." he said eagerly. One of the smaller Hags, the gentle twin, cupped some cold mountain water into her hands and tipped it into his waiting mouth. He drank, and afterward began to shake his head emphatically. "Shine." He said again. The three sisters looked at one another with puzzlement. He spoke once more. "Blossom!" he said with great desperation.

"I think I know what he wants." Said the elder of the three after a moment. She picked him up like a bride and flapped her great wings, climbing the air until she was well above the cliff. Her sisters flew below her.

* * *

It was nearly a whole day before they finally began their circling descent, Andrew asleep in Sapphire's sinewy arms. Emerald and Ruby landed a little ways from them. They were next to an ancient orchard of dark-wooded trees with papery leaves bearing brown fruit. Sapphire plucked one and handed it to Andrew. He eagerly took a bite and, upon tasting that it wasn't what he was looking for, he dropped it and began to cry like a toddler.

"This confirms it. He desires The Fruit." Sapphire concluded.

"But what can become of him if he takes of the fruit? He'll be cursed and become twisted like our cruel mother!" Emerald said with great fire.

"Too true." concurred Ruby, "We could trick someone into stealing one to give to him. The writing on the gate says the fruit may be taken for others."

"We know enough about magic to know the writing can come to mean something else. Such treachery may yet come to affect us." reasoned Sapphire.

"Well I certainly won't jeopardize myself or my sister." said Emerald.

"Very well, then. Only one need go. I can make it by dawn." Sapphire said as lifted the weeping Andrew once more and took to the frigid skies.

* * *

The sun crested over the eastern horizon behind them as they arrived at the valley. There, shining golden within the walls of the hilltop garden, was the Lion. Sapphire sensed him and had no desire to steal an apple while He was present. She was at a loss for what to do, so she made like a Maenad and dropped him at the far edge of the valley.

"Blossoms! Shine! Drink! Brandy! SHINE!" said Andrew, squirming like a child in her arms as she touched down. She watched him walk to the base of the hill before flying to rejoin her sisters in the Toffee orchard.

* * *

Andrew stared up the green turfed hill. It was steep, nearly impossible for an old man in his state to climb, but his mind was too gone to tell him this. He began upward and soon he was climbing up using his hands and feet, gripping the dewy earth with his gnarled toes. The grass was green, impossibly uniform, and slick. He was as Sisyphus. He would gain ground, then lose it all, then gain once more. At one point he was three quarters of the way to the top when he slid down to near the bottom. He clawed the dirt, leaving a trail of gouges in the earth.

Finally, his eyes were level with the very bottom of the gate, just two arms-lengths away. He felt such relief, but he'd forgotten what he was trying to do and almost let himself slide limply down the side of the great hill. A beautiful, shrill cry came to his ears from the garden. It was a sound that broke your heart while also filling you with joy. He followed the cry of the Phoenix and soon was laying face-down on the loam outside the gates.

He could smell The Fruit and something else. It was something warm, as if forgiveness itself had a scent. He forced himself to his hands and knees and crawled through the open gates. The silence with the light from the Silver Apples and the glow from the Lion brought a stillness to Andrew's mind and he felt safe for the first time that his broken mind could remember.

"You shall not steal the Fruit." said Aslan with a low rumble.

"Blossom! Thirst!" Andrew pleaded.

"You shall not steal the Fruit." Aslan repeated. He then sprang up, twisting in the air, to swing his paw into the bows of the tree. "CATCH!" He roared as he freed one Apple. It soared through the air with such immaculate trajectory that it landed perfectly between Andrews raised and begging hands. He reflexively gripped it. He had what he wanted. He wept for joy and then in sorrow because he could not remember what to do next. "Eat." ordered Aslan.

Andrew bit into the fruit, covering his chin in dark amber-burgundy juice. He devoured the apple, knowing only that one action, capable of nothing else. As he finished, he felt satisfied. Color returned to his face and his musculature returned to it's youthful state. His hair, which had been a dirty-looking mess with some black hairs around the base of his skull, was pure platinum and fell thick and wavy down his back. His beard thickened and became salt and pepper with dominant white.

Then he started to remember. He remembered Digory, Letty, Astaria, Mabel, Adam, dear responsible Adam who helped his ageless sister look after their mother. He remembered Jadis and he remembered Narnia. He understood where he was now.

"Well then, Lion. I suppose I owe you now." he said with considerable ire.

"If you choose to view it as such."

"Am I not in your Bond? Why did you bring me here? What am I to do now?" he asked, puzzled. Aslan walked out through the gate, saying:

"Do whatever the fuck you want to."


End file.
